


The Body

by soitgoes



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 02:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soitgoes/pseuds/soitgoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. "We weren't born. We were grown. We were harvested and when we all grew up they put us to work. Chief programmer, genius, it all sounded good at the beginning." There will be OC/OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Vegas, Baby

Once upon a time man had two heads and four legs and four arms. He cart wheeled everywhere and was always on time. He wore his lover on his stomach and they never kissed or fucked or screamed or loved. The gods took pity and gave these creatures what they needed, some goddamn humanity.

 

That was the first time the world went mad and it kept happening over and over. Man burned man and called it religion. Whole villages turned on mothers, wives, husbands, children and called it justice.  A mad man decided to kill everyone in the whole world who didn’t agree with him and called that evolution.

 

The last time the world went mad was in 2012. Rossum endorsed greed and sold gluttony on sticks like caramel apples and called this charity, innovation, _genius_.

 

Harrow Green was sure 2012 would be the last time the world went mad. Not because the world had become immune to madness but because the world had been set on fire and once it was over Harrow was sure there’d be nothing left to go mad.

 

“Ms. Green evacuation is in process,” a handler said entering her lab without any announcement.

 

Harrow paid no attention to the well-mannered southern gentleman. He had been so kind as to not manhandle her into moving faster but he had too much respect and fondness for the young woman.

 

“Ms. Green, please,” Williams said again.

 

“Yes I heard you,” Harrow said quietly but she made no move to leave.

 

She stared out her window at a field of sunflowers reaching out into a blue sky smudged with white clouds. Of course there were no actual sunflowers in fact there wasn’t even a window. The Las Vegas Dollhouse was many stories below the surface in the middle of a desert just outside of the city.

 

“Ms. Green you must be relocated immediately,” Williams said his soothing baritone with just a touch of southern twang.

 

It was no wonder he was the best handler in the house. His voice was almost always like a croon even when handling regular people.

 

“Just give me a minute,” she said leaning back in her chair, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a while before I ever see sunflowers again. Say, Father do they have sunflowers in heaven?”

 

Harrow assumed that was another reason Father Williams was the best handler in the house. He was a former pastor and though he often reminded Harrow of the “former” part she couldn’t help but see him as a Godly man. It was as if she could still see the bits and pieces of his religion still clinging to him like bright shiny pieces of glass in someone’s foot.

 

She had been surprised when they brought him in for the first time. She didn’t think a Dollhouse would be his scene considering all the sex, drugs, and murder that went down in Vegas but he was a surprise. He had thoroughly surprised her.

 

Harrow liked surprises when she could afford them.

 

“Now, Harrow, you know I don’t deal in faith anymore,” Father Williams said speaking slowly as though they had time, “I don’t sell redemption. I cannot get you to heaven no matter how much I hope for you.”

 

He had long ago given up trying to rid himself of the pesky nickname the chief programmer had tagged on him. Benedict Williams had abandoned his faith long ago but he found it funny that a little girl who sold in sin and iniquity had been the one to pin back onto him. Even if he still could not bring himself to believe he was ever reminded of it. He had hated her for it at the beginning. Perhaps he still hated her but loved her too much to show it.

 

“Aw come on, Father,” Harrow said finally turning from the false flower that had turned into a blank screen as soon as she turned away, “you still remember don’t you? You can still tell me a story.”

 

When he did not reply, Harrow stood and moved to the duffle bag besides her desk. She had been ready to leave a long time ago.

 

“Not that I have any delusion of ever getting there,” she said, “hey, do you think they got sunflowers in Hell?”

 

Father Williams walked to stand besides his friend. She was a pretty girl with dark brown eyes and hair to match. Williams had known many pretty girls and he had lost every single one even the ones that belonged to him, the ones to whom he had belonged. Harrow would be no different. He had a feeling this would be the last conversation they would ever have. He would be right.

 

“No, Harrow, my dear girl,” he said truthfully, “there are no flowers in the afterlife, heaven or hell. There is nothing there but darkness. That is the best people like us can hope for.”

 

He leaned down reaching for her bag. She only had one. Harrow was nothing if not economical.

 

“Why’d you have say it like that?” Harrow said Father Williams could hear the strain in the sound of her voice as her throat became constricted, “why couldn’t you just say yes like a good pastor? Why’d you have to be so damn honest?”

 

Harrow had always been a crier. It was one of her main personality flaws. Mr. Takagawa the director of the Las Vegas house has suggested she just pluck it out. Mr. Takagawa was an ass.

 

Williams placed the bag on the floor and went back to his friend’s side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, that hand that had blessed newborns and whores alike. He had once promised God that he would do His works with that hand. He found it ironic that he _had_ done the works of a god just not the one he had planned to all those years ago.

 

“Because you and I both know this may very well be the last time we ever speak,” he said softly into the air just besides her ear, “and I’d rather you remember me as honest than nice.”

 

Without hesitation Harrow threw her arms around the much taller man’s waist pulling him as close as possible. Of course Harrow had considered it would be the last time she would ever see or speak to her wayward man of God. She was a genius and she had played out all the possible outcomes, every single one. Only in 3% of all the outcomes did she see Father Williams again, only 1% where they both came out alive.

 

“To many people will remember me as nice,” Williams said pressing his lips onto the crown of her head until all he could smell was the scent of her shampoo, a warm musky scent, “I’d like at least one person to remember that I was honest too, or that I could be.”

 

“This really is the end of the world isn’t it?” Harrow whispered.

 

“Yes,” Father Williams replied, “I think it is.”

 

Harrow closed her eyes but only for a few seconds. That was all the time she had to sear that moment onto the inside of her eyelids. As much as she wanted things to be different, Harrow Green knew she would never see Father Williams again. You see Harrow had no intention of leaving Vegas with the good Father. She would not be joining the other programmers in the safe houses planted all across the country.

 

As soon as she hit open air Harrow ditched her security and disappeared into the chaos. She had been planning her escape for years ever since Ambrose had informed them of the new direction of their merchandise.

 

And no matter how much Harrow loved Father Williams, her wayward man of god there was only one person to whom Harrow Green always returned. There was only one person who was endgame. To Harrow Green there would only ever be Brendan Welsh.


	2. New York

**2012, New York City**

The world went mad in 2010 for everyone else. For Alpha the world had always been a mad place. And madness only shifted into more madness day after day after day. Karl William Kraft had been mad, and then Alpha had gone mad. There was no escaping it.

"Not true," said the voice of Paul Ballard from some dark dank corner of his mind, "madness is not a default setting for anyone. It's something that the world pours in you, day after day, year after year."

Alpha would have laughed if a Butcher hadn't just landed a superb kick to his ribs. There would be some bruising, no doubt about that. He quickly made mince meat of his attackers face and then proceeded to cut a major artery or two. Alpha winced when he ran the palm of his hand against the stop the Butcher had got him. He was getting slow in his old age.

"Oh I can see why she likes you Paul," Alpha replied, "quiet the optimist."

Alpha considered himself an optimist. He still believed he could make Echo love him didn't he?

"Again, not true," Paul responded his voice powering over all the others, "she hates my optimism, it's just me she loves."

Alpha sank a splintered piece of wood into someone's neck. He didn't check to see if it stopped the mindless sack of meat. He just kept moving all the while mumbling under his breath in response to the other people in his head.  _His_  head, not Paul's, no Bobby's or Keplar's, not even Kraft's, that head belonged to Alpha.

"And if I could stop that, if I tipped the glass back and shut my lips do you think that the insanity would stop? Would she love me then?" Alpha said the words passing his lips bringing with it a spray spit.

His breath was failing him and his legs were tired.

"At least ya' got that food," Bobby said somewhere from the front of the mob in his mind, "don't fuck it up by getting' our ass beat to a pulp."

 _My ass, my legs, my breath, my_ **body**.

" _No_ , MY BODY," Alpha said this time his voice far above a whisper or mumble.

He stopped for a second to lean against the ruined wall in a narrow alleyway. To be completely honest Alpha wasn't enjoying the end of the world as much as he thought he would. All of the fun distracted him from his goal.

Paul was not among the chorus. There wasn't an awkward silence however. It was never silent for Alpha. Not the world outside with all the screams of the dying or survivors, not in his head with all the psychos and creeps lurking in there, Alpha had forgotten what silence sounded like.

As soon as Paul had gone quiet the other voices in his head started up again. Murders, the occasional schizo, a genius or two, there were so many but Alpha knew they all by name. He reminded them all that they were just pieces, just jigsaw pieces but everyday he became less and less sure.

"No, you'd definitely still be a bastard," one of the voice said breaking through.

Alpha couldn't help but laugh at that. That was definitely Paul.

"But you'd be better than what you are now," Paul continued, "that has to be worth something."

"It's worth  _nothing_ ," Alpha replied growing more and more impatient with all the people in his head, "everyone shut up or I swear –"

His threat was cut off by a ruckus at the mouth of the alley. A figure had stumbled over a couple of trashcans and fallen to the ground. Obviously not a Butcher but Alpha didn't make a move. It could have been a Dumbshow and he didn't feel like having one of those following him around and killing it would just cause too much of a scene.

"Agh," it said, " _fuck_."

It wasn't a Dumbshow either. Alpha grinned and pulled the pack on his back tighter around his body. In few seconds the Actual was up and moving again probably back to a safe place with food and maybe other Actuals.

"You're going to kill her aren't you?" said Paul his voice breaking free from the chorus.

Alpha pushed his body from the wall to a standing position in one fluid motion. He wasn't that old yet. He made his way towards open air and to the chaos of what used to be the streets of New York City.

"Now why would you say that, Paul?" Alpha replied under his breath.

There were fires in the streets and they were very likely fueled by the bodies of some unfortunate Dumbshows. Anarchy reigned in the city of New York though from what Alpha had seen of it before 2010 there wasn't much of a difference. Madness had always had a firm grip on the concrete jungle.

"Because I'm here in your head," Paul responded his voice rising and Alpha could practically see the saliva spraying from the man's lips, the vein in his neck pulsing and protruding, "and I know what you are; you're a psycho. You don't care who you hurt or you kill as long as you get what you want."

Ah so he was still butthurt about the whole brain frying. Alpha could hardly blame him. He knew  _exactly_  where Paul was coming from.

"Oh you know me so well Paul," Alpha replied as he ducked out of sight of a group of Butchers, "I feel like we've really grown closer over the years."

"I feel like I've gone mad in here," Paul said his voice growing fainter amongst the voices of the others.

"That makes the two of us Paulie," Alpha said as the Actual came into view again.

From what he could see the Actual was of medium height, slight build and nervous about something. Alpha had been in the presence of many nervous people. In fact at least nine of the people in his head were prone to anxiety. It was one of the many things that Alpha understood with intimacy.

"So the doll is worrying about somethin'" Bobby said, "just slit her throat and take her stuff."

The stones were blackened and rotting from the lack of TLC but it was obvious where his new little friend had led him. He glanced up at the tall stone building. They were at the library, the New York Public Library Main Branch.

"All in good time old friend," Alpha whispered to the mad man in his own mind, "all in good time."


End file.
